


some meteor that the sun exhales

by soongandroid



Series: See you soon, my dear (forget about goodbye) [3]
Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Emotional Sex, Established Relationship, Intimacy, M/M, Romance, not really porn just an exploration of physical intimacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 17:12:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13104771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soongandroid/pseuds/soongandroid
Summary: Privacy is hard to come by, for a pair of desperately enamored star-crossed princes. Silas and Panto spend a rare night together under the stars, appreciating what they have and daring to hope for their future.





	some meteor that the sun exhales

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place roughly 2-3 years after _swear not by the moon_ , when they meet. 
> 
> It took me a long time to write, less because of the sex and more because of how emotional it ended up being. The point of this wasn't really the porn. I was really struck in the show by how effective Silas and Panto's physical intimacy was shown in the short scenes they had together, and how it seemed like they had been together for a long time by their familiarity but still had a very intense relationship. 
> 
> For the record, Silas is trans, because he's my favorite and I said so and Wendimoor is magic anyways.

The sun is nearly down between the full, green trees when Panto and Silas finish eating; barely a crumb remains of the assortment of bread, fruits, and roasted rabbit they had washed down with wine over their modest campfire. Hunger satisfied, they’re stretched out together in front of their tent, content to while the evening away. 

Panto strums a mandolin lazily, skipping notes, as Silas sings some shanty or other he picked up on his last visit to the ports. They talk and stoke the fire between songs, teasing each other and taking turns making up verses when they’ve run out of real ones. Nights like these are simple but rare between them--royal titles and obligations abandoned for the freedom of a night together alone under the silent, forgiving stars.

Dying light falls on Panto as it filters through the leaves, the burning hues making Panto’s soft pink pair glow like firelight. The sight makes Silas’s breath catch in his throat, stumbling on a chorus. Panto looks up from his instrument, small befuddled smile on his face.

“Cat got your tongue, Silas?” Panto asks. Silas makes a valiant effort to retort in kind, but his voice fails him.

“I...you’re radiant, Panto,” Silas blurts, “you’re so beautiful.” 

 

Panto’s smile widens, and he sets down his mandolin. “Coming from you, my love, that is indeed high praise,” he says.

He brings a hand up to gently trace Silas’s face, then rests it on his shoulder. Panto lets his eyes wander, dragging them up Silas’s chest and across his features. Silas feels his face heat under Panto’s gaze; then slowly Panto presses his lips to Silas’s, soft and dry. He lifts his hands to rest on Panto’s chest, and Panto’s grip on Silas’s shoulder slides to the back of his neck. They lose track of time kissing like this, eyes closed and mouths open, drinking each other in. They’re rainwater in a drought to each other, and every drop is precious.

When they eventually break apart, Silas laughs breathlessly. He drops his forehead against Panto’s collarbone, running his fingers over the smooth folded cloth of his tunic collar.

“How did I get so lucky, to have you all to myself?” Silas says. 

Panto grins into Silas’s hair. “No luck, just serendipity. How could I resist you? A handsome prince, wandering into my pond--”

“Your pond!”

“Stealing my heart like some common thief--”

“Oh, common now, am I?”

“Stumbling into a trap for me to rescue him and sweep him off his feet--mm!” Panto continues, until Silas effectively silences him by climbing into his lap and kissing him again. 

It’s different this time--turning deeper, more urgent. Silas wraps his arms around Panto’s neck and Panto’s hands move to his waist, pulling him flush against his chest. The world shrinks around them, wrapped up in each other in the hazy twilight. Tentative roaming fingertips catch lightly on hems, laces, belts; Panto’s teeth trace Silas’s stubbled jaw as he tilts his head to expose his neck. When Panto sucks gently on his pulse, Silas’s breath speeds. He clings to Panto’s shoulders, heart fluttering in his chest, as Panto moves to the hollow of his throat.

Silas’s skin is warm and Panto feels like the warmth is seeping into him, spreading like fire. He can’t think beyond the beautiful man in his lap and under his mouth. They haven’t seen each other in weeks, and he wants to soak up every detail he can: any moment he isn’t touching Silas, kissing him, is a moment wasted. Panto tugs up the linen tucked into Silas’s belt, slipping cool hands underneath his shirt to slide across more warm skin. He hears--and feels--a hitch in Silas’s inhale, before Silas responds by pressing down, slotting their hips together in a way that has Panto gasping open-mouthed against Silas’s neck.

“I love you, Panto, gods above,” Silas says, voice rough and fervent. His hands work shakily and impatiently at the laces of Panto’s tunic. Panto huffs a quiet laugh and lifts his head to look at Silas. 

“I may never tire of hearing you say that, my love,” Panto replies. 

Silas’s dark, intense eyes are blown wide and reflect what moonlight peeks between thin clouds. “I love you,” he repeats. Maker, Panto is gone for this man.

Silas flashes a grin and kisses him hard, distracted from his goal only a few seconds before his fingers continue to pull apart his lover’s collar. He only pulls away reluctantly, Panto chasing his lips, to hastily tug off Panto’s shirt and then his own. The shirts are balled up and tossed through the tent entrance behind them. In an instant Silas is back on Panto--hands on his shoulders, bare chests pressing, tongue tracing the shell of his ear down his jaw. 

The air around them is cooling with the night, but Silas’s blood is hot as their campfire. He drags his nails, gentle but firm, down Panto’s arms, his back, his chest. Panto’s hands on his waist move lower, bringing their hips together again, and Silas groans deep in his chest. Teeth pull at Silas’s lower lip insistently. He hums low and grinds down in a slow circle, drawing a reedy gasp from Panto as his stomach flutters and tenses.

Blood rushes in Panto’s ears as he moves with Silas, kissing him with growing desperation. He’s elated, determined, and his feelings are only intensified by the sparks flaring in his gut and up his spine. Every part of him sings for Silas: _closer_. 

“Gods, Silas,” Panto breathes unabashed, and Silas stutters a laugh. “Do you, darling, do you know what you do to me?” 

Silas threads a hand through Panto’s hair. “I should hope I can make a fairly educated guess,” he says; his voice is teasing but his eyes are earnest. 

“Take a guess then, your highness,” Panto says lightly.

Slowly, deliberately, not breaking eye contact, Silas trails his hands down Panto’s sides, letting his hands rest with his thumbs digging slightly in the vee of Panto’s hip bones. “Do you want me, Panto?” he says.

For a split second, heat spikes through Panto so sharp his vision blurs. “Always, yes, Silas, yes,” he breathes, his heart pounding.

Then the tension breaks, and in the next moment Silas is pulling Panto to his feet, leaning up on his toes to catch him again in a clumsy kiss. Their hands fumble, grasping, pulling carelessly at belts and laces as they muffle exhilarated laughter in each other’s mouths. Linen trousers are abandoned the way of their shirts; boots are dropped by the fire.

Panto ducks through the entrance of their tent first, pulling Silas with him and laying him out on their pile of furs and blankets. He props himself up on his side with an elbow by Silas’s shoulder, free hand splayed on his abdomen as Silas reaches for the back of his head to bring their mouths together again. Silas’s heartbeat is fast against his palm and his lips are swollen where they press to Panto’s. Panto lets his hands wander: down Silas’s chest, up the inside of his thigh, around the swell of his ass and small of his back--acres of smooth brown skin prickling under his touch.

Familiar small, eager noises are starting to bubble from Silas’s throat, and Panto moves to suck at the skin there where it bobs and vibrates. When staccato gasps turn to moans, Panto hides a satisfied grin against Silas’s shoulder. His soft-hearted prince has always worn his heart on his sleeve, both in public and in private. 

Silas nudges Panto’s head up from where he’s latched onto his neck, meeting his eyes. Fingertips run over Panto’s jaw, finding patches rubbed pink against Silas’s short beard. His eyes shine with impatience but the corners of his lips tug up helplessly.

“If I didn’t know better, my love, I’d think this was a drawn out attempt to kill me after all,” Silas says. “Though I’m hard pressed to see what information you’re getting from this torture.”  
Panto grins and brushes his fingers down over Silas’s navel, feeling him squirm. “No torture, Silas, I’m not so inhumane as that; only a _little death_ ,” he replies. 

Silas’s amused consternation dissolves as he bursts into laughter, eyes squeezed shut and stomach muscles clenching under Panto’s hand. Ever the opportunist and strategist, Panto chooses that moment to swing his knee over Silas’s other side for balance and slide his hand down between Silas’s spread thighs. Silas sucks in a high, strangled gasp as the laughter dies in his throat, and Panto presses the heel of his palm firm against his pubic bone above the red swell of his cock.

“Please,” Silas breathes, eager. 

Panto’s fingers are still kept curled up into his palm, and he looks down at Silas in askance. “Tell me, love, what do you want? Anything, it’s yours.”

Silas slides a hand up to the back of Panto’s neck, strokes gently with his thumb as he nods. “You Panto, only you,” he says.

When Pantos fingertips slide down, pressing over his cock and against the slick entrance underneath, the embers low in his belly flare to life. Two calloused fingers hook hard inside him, and Silas tangles his hand in Panto’s hair with a cry, flinging his free hand out to fist in the cloth beneath them. He groans loud and low as Panto bends to kiss his neck again, stroking his fingers firm against that tender spot in Silas and carefully rubbing his thumb on the underside of his swollen length. The curling pump of Panto’s fingers is short and quick, and Silas keens with need.

“Oh stars, Panto, moon and stars, you incredible man--” Silas breaks off in a high pitched moan, head thrown back, when Panto presses deeper. “I want--oh, I want to keep you here forever, Panto, you feel perfect--gods above--” Silas rambles between ragged breaths, only stopping when shuddering groans break through. Pleasure starts to coil tight in his core, Panto’s strong, steady hand sending white hot sparks through his body. When his first orgasm hits, soft and abrupt, he muffles his groans in the crook of Panto’s neck. It’s intense and intimate, and Silas could live in this moment for as long as Panto let him.

Panto slows his movements, breathing nearly hard as Silas, kissing Silas’s forehead and setting his weight back on his knees. “How do you feel?” he says.

Silas gapes quizzically up at him. “Perhaps you haven’t been listening well enough, Panto,” he replies. 

“Wrong question, my apologies, ” Panto smiles back. He leans in a little, brushes Silas’s cheek with the thumb of his dry hand. “You do know I love to hear your voice, nightingale. How do you want me?” 

Silas hums and pushes himself up onto one elbow. His other hand he reaches forward, caressing Panto’s firm chest, lightly grasping his lover’s hard length where it rests neglected against his thigh. Panto inhales sharply, hips twitching into Silas’s hand. He strokes Panto slowly, mindful of dry skin, draws circles around the slit at his tip. Panto bites his lip and groans low, and Silas smiles.

“I want you just as you are, my love. But tonight, I think,” Silas says, punctuating his words with a kiss and a fast, tight stroke, “Could I take you on your back?”

Panto grins. “Nothing would make me happier.” He crawls forward and rolls onto his back, settling with their pillows under his shoulders, and pulls Silas around to straddle his lap. Silas reaches past Panto, pulling a glass vial of oil from a discarded leather pouch, and sets it by them before settling back against Panto’s thighs. The sight of Silas above him, confident and heat-flushed, wanting him--it makes Panto’s heart swell and stutter in his chest. Silas leans down to kiss him slow and deep, taking his cock in hand again in slow, loose pulls. 

When Panto’s deep, even breathing starts to hitch and picks up speed, Silas breaks away and reaches for the vial. He flicks the top open and pours half the contents into his hand, then strokes Panto another half-dozen times with a slick palm, delighting in the frustrated furrow of his eyebrows.

“Alright, love?” Silas says. He watches Panto’s face, steadying himself with a hand on his chest.

Panto nods, bringing his own hands to hold his lover’s hips. “Of course, Silas,” he says, smiling with pupils blown wide. “Now are you going to ravish me, or shall I do it myself?”

Silas laughs and kisses him, soft and sweet. “I couldn’t possibly turn down such an offer,” he says.

Silas leans forward on his knees and braces himself over the other man, letting Panto steady him in his hands. He takes Panto’s cock, hard and hot in his hand, and shifts back to press the head to his slit. Slowly, he drops his weight, lets himself feel the stretch as he opens for Panto. Panto’s fingers flex against Silas’s skin, grip firm but not pushing him. When Silas sits flush against Panto’s hips, they’re both gasping for air, and Silas lets out sighing moans with every exhale. It’s not often they have the time and privacy, to make love like this, and the sensations are nearly overwhelming.

For a minute they stay still, clutching each other, riding out the shock of pleasure. When Silas finally moves, Panto’s hands guide him. He rocks slowly, steady on his knees over Panto, and his mouth hangs open as he murmurs his lover’s name over and over like a prayer. It may as well be, the way they worship each other’s bodies in this warm and hidden shelter they’ve made.

As Silas moves, taking Panto deep and steady, his keening wavers and grows. Silas’s voice makes Panto’s blood sing and drives him insane with need. His hips buck up as Silas drops down, and Silas shouts like the wind is knocked out of him. Panto grins through a moan and pulls Silas’s face down to meet him, kissing him hard as he raises the pace. Their movements become more urgent, sweat beading on foreheads and muscles burning as they chase white-hot pleasure.

Silas drops his forehead against Pantos, panting loud and heavy as Panto’s thrusts rock him to the core. He struggles to keep his eyes open to watch his lover, gorgeous beneath him. “Panto,” he grits out, “Panto, I love you, gods I-- _oh_ \--my love, please,” Silas’s words tip high and dissolve into a drawn out whine that hitches with the rhythm of his hips.

“You’re magnificent, Silas,” Panto breathes in reply. He truly is, gorgeous and breathtaking and glowing and so, so hot and tight around him. Panto feels himself rushing fast to the edge. “Love, my love, come here--”

Panto leans forward, reaching a hand under Silas where their bodies meet to find the nub of his cock, stroking it between his fingers as Silas continues a broken rhythm. He feels Silas clench around him, his voice pitching strained and frantic. His lover rocks on him in abrupt, short thrusts, hips tilted to find purchase in his hand, and Panto is on fire. The heat and friction and sheer joy are consuming him, and he falls willinging.

“I love you, Silas, I love you,” Panto moans. His hips jerk up as he buries himself in Silas once, twice more, coming apart breathlessly. When his vision clears, he keeps rubbing Silas slick and fast, bringing him over the edge a minute after. Silas shudders through his peak full bodied, Panto’s name on his lips and head hanging forward as his chest heaves for air.

They lay together in the quiet, for a while, Silas curled with his head pillowed on Panto’s chest. The embers of the fire outside crackle and insects chirp in the grass of the forest. In the afterglow they swap kisses, sweet and easy. Silas’s hands trace Panto’s collarbone absently, taking comfort in his lovers heartbeat under his skin.

Panto wraps an arm around Silas’s bare shoulders, holding him close. “And to think” he starts, “in another life, we could share a bed every night?” 

Silas laughs mildly. “I would never get _out_ of bed. The temptation to spoil you would be too great.”

“Oh, we shall see who’s spoiled,” Panto says with a grin. He pulls Silas up to kiss him fervently, and they fight smiles against each other’s lips. When they break apart, face to face on their sides, they’re both shaking helplessly with laughter. 

Silas lifts a hand to draw Panto’s to his lips, then laces their fingers to rest between them. “Someday, Panto,” he says, barely above a whisper, “we’ll show our parents who we are, we’ll lay the fighting to rest. We won’t hide. We’ll share a bed, and everything else--” he cuts himself off, swallowing and squeezing Panto’s hand. “I want to share my life with you, my love.”

Panto’s gaze is bright and adoring as he squeezes back. “You know my heart is yours, my life too, always. If I had my way I might never leave your side. I’d cause quite the commotion.”

Silas huffs a laugh. The few times he’s tried to sneak Panto into the Dengdamor capital, he was forced to wear a full hooded cloak to disguise his rather distinct hair. It doesn’t help he sticks out like a sore thumb.

When he thinks about it, though: a life with Panto in body and spirit, together more often than parted--his heart aches fierce in his chest with yearning. Suddenly he can’t stand it, the uncertainty and fear, the force of longing for something more. More than anything, Silas _wants_.

 

Silas sits up, meeting Panto’s mild confusion with determination. “Panto,” he says, soft and urgent. “Did you mean it?”

Panto levers himself up as well, taking Silas’s other hand and bringing them both towards him. He knows the tone of Silas’s voice. It’s vulnerability, it means _pay attention_. “More than anything,” he says.

“Someday, Panto. I meant it too. When we’re stronger, when our ties are not so frayed and bloody. When we’re ready.” Panto can see tears starting to form in Silas’s eyes, but the corners of his lips betray a smile. “I would have you marry me.”

Panto beams and laughs, a gentle hand tipping their foreheads together as his eyes flutter shut. “My love, nothing would make me happier.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you managed to make it to the end, thanks for reading! I hope the change in tone isn't too rough. I've really appreciated all the encouragement I got on the last 2 fics, so if you liked it or you noticed a mistake, leave kudos or a comment! Happy new year!


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